<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Cruel Devices by EbonyKnight</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25934944">Cruel Devices</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight'>EbonyKnight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, D/s, M/M, Punishment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:34:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25934944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade has a dirty secret, a dirty secret he has been protecting since his divorce. </p><p>He should, however, have known better than to think that he could hide anything from Mycroft Holmes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>188</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cruel Devices</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine. No copyright infringement intended. I just can't resist making the characters do naughty things. </p><p>Beta'd by my dear friends CindyLou_Who and Romany Walker. Thank you for putting up with my endless flapping. </p><p>The name of Greg's club was inspired by Alice Cooper's song Poison.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With the bar at his back and a pint of Dutch courage clutched firmly in his left hand, Greg surveyed the scene in front of  him. This level of Cruel Devices looked to all intents and purposes like a normal bar. The lighting was atmospherically low and the music kept to a volume over which people could maintain conversations without the need to raise their voices. Clusters of chairs and tables were dotted around the place, and the left hand side of the large room was lined with small booths for members who wanted more privacy than could be afforded by the open plan main room. That, however, was where any semblance of normality ended. The right hand side of the main room was dominated by a stage, upon which stood a Saint Andrew’s cross, a bed, and a bondage horse, though more furniture and equipment would be brought out when necessary as the night progressed. </p><p>Dressed in dark jeans and a smart black shirt, Greg stood out somewhat from much of the crowd: many of his fellow members were dressed from head-to-toe in leather, or rubber, or garments comprised of chains, or, in some cases, nothing but a collar and skimpy underwear. Having no time for  what he perceived as people playing dress up, he quickly dismissed all of them as potential partners without a second thought. He drained a quarter of his pint; it did nothing to help, only serving to draw his attention to the faint tremor that had started in his hands hours earlier. Although his once infrequent visits had eventually become monthly visits, Greg had never felt entirely comfortable with his kinky side, despite having long since admitted that he <i>needed</i> this. What had started as idle curiosity after a club owner he’d been arresting had told him that she saw his ‘type’ in her club ‘every day of the week’ had spiralled out of control, his increasingly frequent visits had become absolutely essential if he was to face the stress of his job. After a hellish week like the one that had just passed, there was nothing that worked to decompress him as well as a trip to Cruel Devices, even if it had meant ditching Mycroft for what would have undoubtedly been a fantastic meal out and a night of equally fantastic sex.  </p><p>As though even the briefest thought of work was enough to summon the demons he had done his best to leave at the station, impotent anger and frustration bubbled in his gut. He jammed his free hand into the pocket of his jeans and tightened his hold on his drink as he took a deep breath, re-focussing his attention on the room at large lest the tide of emotion barely held in check overwhelmed him. Each and every time he came here, it was because something had hurt him, fractured him so badly that nothing but being taken out of his head could fix him. This occasion was no different; the sight of Ian Preston’s daughters suffocated in their beds, their glittery unicorn wallpaper splattered with his brain matter, and his ex-wife sobbing on her knees, was haunting his every conscious moment. If only someone had <i>listened</i> to her, taken her complaints about him seriously, it would never have happened. Greg had done everything in his power to hold himself together, but things had come to a head when he’d missed three mornings out of five to hangovers, and his boss, fearing that her star DI was slipping back into alcoholism, had threatened to pull him from active duty pending a work capability assessment by occupational health if he didn’t sort himself out. </p><p>As wound up as he was, Greg initially failed to notice Simon hovering at his elbow. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? Not seen you here for a while, Rupert,” he drawled, getting right into Greg’s personal space. Tall and condescending with a deep voice and commanding presence, Simon was exactly what Greg was looking for when he visited Cruel Devices. The two of them had played together several times, and while Simon sometimes strayed from ‘dominant’ into ‘bully’ and definitely cut corners with aftercare, he at least knew his way around bondage gear and didn’t ask questions. More importantly to Greg in that moment, however, was that Simon hadn’t once turned him down.</p><p>Feeling some of the tension drain out of his shoulders at the thought of release, Greg smiled. “Work. You know how it is,” he replied, anticipation starting to flutter in his chest. “Are you here with someone?”</p><p>“No.” With an appraising look that apparently saw far more than Greg wanted him to, Simon raised his right hand and drew the index finger along Greg’s jaw until it reached his chin. “You’re very needy tonight, aren’t you? Almost desperate.” The patronising tone would normally have got on every last one of Greg’s nerves, but he <i>was</i> desperate, so much so that the promise of relief left him helpless to do anything but nod. “I’m going to ruin you.”</p><p>That was the moment that, with his heart pounding and the promise of relief close enough that he could almost taste it, Greg’s world came crashing down around his ears. </p><p>“I think not.”  The glacial, steely voice spoke directly over his shoulder, and Greg turned his head slowly, body running cold with dread. His friend and sometimes-lover,  Mycroft Holmes, thin smile sharper than an Arctic wind, settled a long fingered hand possessively on Greg’s waist. “Go away.”</p><p>Every fiber of Greg’s being tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “What’re you —”</p><p>“You will speak when granted permission,” Mycroft cut him off curtly, cold eyes briefly locking with Greg’s before turning his attention back to Simon. Greg held his tongue and watched the other man visibly size Mycroft up, and for a wild moment he actually thought he was going to argue. Apparently having sensed the potential challenge, Mycroft tightened his hold on Greg’s waist and Greg would have sworn that the temperature plummeted. “<i>Leave,</i>” he commanded, flicking the fingers of his free hand in Simon’s direction.</p><p>The defiant glint in Simon’s eyes lasted a second longer, but then he turned tail and fled without so much as a glance in Greg’s direction. Greg wasn’t surprised: Mycroft was downright scary when he wanted to be. </p><p>“I…” Greg started, moistening his suddenly-dry lips with his tongue, frantically searching for an explanation. He was a mess of conflicting instincts, but the need to explain why he’d been found at a kink club in Brighton after cancelling their night together at the last minute was overwhelming. “It’s not what it loo—”</p><p>“— Were you granted permission to speak?” Mycroft interrupted blandly, eyebrow arched at the impertinence. When Greg mutely shook his head, heart pounding, he continued, “Very good. The booth in the far corner is reserved for us; you will leave your drink on the bar and wait for me there. Do not speak to anyone en route.”  Unsure what the hell to do with this situation, Greg stalled, looking for something - <i>anything</i> - to reassure himself that the world wasn’t actually ending. When he didn’t immediately move, Mycroft narrowed his cold, grey eyes dangerously. “I am not accustomed to repeating myself. Go.”</p><p>Greg put his half-finished pint on the bar and fled, anxiety rising with every step. Not only was <i>Mycroft</i> in his kink club, but he was apparently perfectly at ease, too, and Greg had absolutely no fucking idea what to do with that. The club was busier than it had been when he’d arrived, and, as he carefully picked his way between tables and people, passing a woman wearing only a collar and knickers having her mouth fucked, he fought a hysterical laugh at the thought that this couldn’t have been further away from his and Mycroft’s typical evening together if he’d tried. </p><p>The booth in the far corner had a ‘reserved’ marker on the table, placed next to a candle flickering away in a stylish glass ramekin. Greg slid onto the black leather upholstered bench, anxiety gnawing at him. He hadn’t imagined that anyone would find out about this perversion of his, given the lengths to which he went to hide it, and having it happen - with fucking <i>Mycroft</i>, no less - felt like the floor had been pulled out from beneath him. One deep breath followed another, doing nothing to ease the tight band constricting his chest, but a savage pinch to the inside of his right thigh helped to ground him for long enough for what remained of his common sense to point out that Mycroft had sought him out despite knowing exactly where he was, and appeared perfectly at ease. </p><p>Mycroft arrived at their booth trailed by a barman carrying a tray bearing a glass of orange juice and a glass of Coke.  Greg watched as his friend propped a leather case against the edge of the table and slid onto the bench. “Thank you,” he said to the barman once their glasses were safely on the table. “That is all.”</p><p>The barman nodded, not so much as glancing at Greg, and left, silence falling heavily in his wake. Greg watched silently Mycroft as the other man sipped from his glass of juice. </p><p>“Well done, Rupert. You may speak freely,” Mycroft said eventually, a pleased look in his eyes, and damned if the older man didn’t feel a flutter of pride at the praise. “I would, however, ask that you avoid inane lies and attempts at obfuscation; they are beneath you and will not work on me. You really ought to have known better.”</p><p>“Right, yeah. Sorry,” Greg replied, feeling his cheeks heat. “Is the Coke mine?”</p><p>“Yes. I do not allow my partners to drink alcohol before the type of activity I have planned for you.” Mycroft fixed him with an impenetrable gaze. “You have reservations and questions, of course.”</p><p>“Yeah, you could say that.” Greg wrapped his fingers around his glass and took a moment to pull his thoughts together. “I’ve always, <i>always</i> kept this secret, but you’ve just swanned in here like it’s nothing, like it’s perfectly fucking normal for us to get meet up in a kink club and for you to go around being all…” Greg waved his free hand emphatically in Mycroft’s direction, “well, like that.”</p><p>“‘Dominant’ is the word you’re looking for, as you well know,” Mycroft replied, perfectly calm in the face of Greg’s anxiety. “You also know that it is impossible to keep secrets from me.” He sipped his juice, looking for all the world like he was discussing Sherlock’s latest exploits or a book he’d read, and Greg would have sacrificed his soul to have the floor to open and swallow him. “You have been a member of Cruel Devices since two thousand and fifteen, and a member of the establishment in Pennyfoot Lane for two years before that. I assume that the change of club came when you realised that it was growing increasingly difficult to hide such activities whilst patronising a club in London.” Mycroft paused to drink, the moment of silence intensifying the already charged atmosphere. “I had, of course, deduced that that you would enjoy being dominated during our first meeting - your arousal responses to my displays of power and control made that much obvious - and was unsurprised when you started exploring it after your divorce. It has at no point coloured my opinion of you, and nor will it in the future, regardless of what happens tonight.” Long fingers rotated the glass he was holding slowly, eyes not leaving Greg’s for a second. “I had, however, hoped that you would come to trust me with it. We have been friends for a number of years now, after all.”</p><p>“It’s not that fucking easy!” Greg burst out, humiliation colouring his cheeks. “What was I meant to say? ‘Oi, mate, fancy a drink at my new kink club?’” He put his glass down with a loud ‘thunk’ and Coke sloshed over the rim of the glass, wetting his fingers. “Not bloody likely.”</p><p>The younger man put his glass down and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Enjoying some form of BDSM activity isn’t uncommon - think fluffy handcuffs and recreational spanking, if it helps.” A small, knowing smile flitted across Mycroft’s lips. “You’re far from the first police officer to find relief in true BDSM practices, believe me. There is absolutely no shame in it.”</p><p>“No shame in it? It’s not fucking normal!” Greg wanted to take Mycroft by the shoulders and shake him until he was as shaken as Greg felt. “I asked Althea if she’d give it a go, you know, back when I first got curious. I’d never seen her look so disgusted or ashamed of me, and that’s really saying something. Why the hell do you think I’d risk bringing it up with someone else I — ”</p><p>“Yes, I <i>have</i> met your delightful ex-wife on a number of occasions, and do not appreciate the comparison. She is a spiteful, rapacious woman who in no way deserved you,” Mycroft replied firmly. “Besides which, I happen to enjoy these activities and I will not tolerate being denigrated for it.”</p><p>Greg’s retort died of death on his lips. He really should have deduced that Mycroft was more than passingly familiar with this when he’d swanned in and scared off the dommiest dom Greg had met. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He subsided into his seat and lowered his gaze to the wooden tabletop. “Why did you come here? Why not just leave it well enough alone?”</p><p>“I saw how difficult this week has been for you and found myself unable to bear the thought of you in the hands of someone unworthy in such a state of distress. You deserve the best,” Mycroft replied, a hint of a smile starting to form on his lips. “I am the best, so here I am.”</p><p>Coming from anyone else, Greg would have dismissed that as baseless arrogance, but this was <i>Mycroft</i>. “Yeah, I don’t doubt it.” He lifted his glass with a shaking hand and drank to buy himself time to think, but his mind had been pulled in so many directions that he didn’t know which way was up. If the way his friend had arrived and taken control was a reliable indicator, he would be very, <i>very</i> good at taking Greg down, but it was a hell of a risk to take and he wasn’t sure that he was prepared to take it. “What’re you suggesting?” Greg heard the waver in his voice and hated it. “I’m not willing to lose what we’ve got for this. It’s already killed one relationship.”</p><p>“Do not confuse me with that woman,” Mycroft replied icily. His gaze sharpened and Greg watched as that incredible mind went to work, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. “You wanting to explore a new facet of your sexuality did not ‘kill’ your marriage: her multiple infidelities and lack of respect for you did. You trusted her - going so far as to invite her to experiment with you - and she abused that trust. I am not Althea, and you <i>can</i> trust me. You have my word.” He paused and sipped his orange juice, holding Greg’s gaze. “As for the immediate future, I am suggesting that you spend the night with me as your dom, safe in the knowledge that it will <i>not</i> have a detrimental effect on our relationship.”  </p><p>There was a deeply soothing quality to Mycroft’s voice and Greg felt himself falling into it. Humiliated, he lowered his gaze, focussing on where his hand was clenching on the tabletop. He wanted this, apparently wanted it with Mycroft, but that didn’t make it any easier to talk about. “When things’ve been as shit as they have been this week, I just need to not be in control. I’ll do anything that takes me out of my head, and being, you know, <i>used</i> when I’ve been feeling so fucking useless...I don’t know <i>why</i> it works, but it just does. That’s why I don’t go for women when I come here.”</p><p>Mycroft hummed and tapped the back of Greg’s tightly clenched hand sharply. “Look at me,” he commanded, a thread of steel running through his voice, and did not continue until Greg was looking at him, hand unclenched. “It is normal to feel helpless at the mercy of someone who could physically best you; as men are typically larger and stronger than women, turning to men for this kind of release makes perfect sense. It removes a layer of security, makes you feel more vulnerable, and there is no shame in needing that. That isn’t to say that there aren’t women who could have you begging in minutes, of course.” He lifted Greg’s hand enough to be able to turn it over, settled it back on the table, palm up, and pressed his fingertips over the pulse point. “I would be honoured if you were to entrust yourself to me tonight, but if you would rather not I will select another partner from the men here for you. That imbecile you were talking to should be nowhere near you while you’re this distressed.”</p><p>“I, ah,” Greg started, trying to think through a sudden, almost incapacitating surge of pure need. Making the wrong decision at this point could destroy his closest friendship, and that was absolutely the last thing he wanted. Mycroft had somehow grown from Sherlock’s stuffy, overprotective brother to the man Greg turned to after a bad day, or another row with his ex, or when he just wanted good company. It had been Mycroft who had taken him in after the final separation from Althea, though, in hindsight, Greg suspected that that was as much Mycroft wanting to keep him out of Moriarty’s crosshairs as anything else. Their friendship had even survived the introduction of not-quite-casual sex, after years of lingering touches and heated looks, and the revelation of the crazy sister. Greg knew - could <i>feel</i> - that they could be more, but he’d always resisted the temptation to ask, and Mycroft had never pushed. But now, with Greg’s perversion out in the open - and, fuck, Mycroft apparently sharing it - he had nothing left to hide. “I don’t want to lose what we’ve got if we do something tonight and it goes tits up,” he said eventually. “You mean too much to me for that.”</p><p>“I’ll take this opportunity to remind you that I always knew this about you and have never thought less of you because of it. Quite the opposite, in fact. I need this in my life as much as you do, and have long hoped that this would be something we could share, given our complementary preferences,” Mycroft replied, eyes softening. He lifted his glass and drank, a very faint tremor in his hand the only sign that the conversation was affecting him at all. A long moment passed, and then another, before Mycroft spoke again. “I can give you what you need tonight and we need never mention it again, if that is your wish.” He pressed lightly over Greg’s pulse point with the fingers still resting there. “But I would not have come here tonight if I wasn’t confident that our friendship would be undamaged. Trust me. Please.” </p><p>At the plea, the last of Greg’s reservations crumbled to dust. Mycroft hadn’t let him down before and Greg trusted that wasn’t about to start now. “Yes. Fuck, yes: I trust you.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mycroft replied, drawing himself up to his full height in his seat with a shark-like smile. “What is your safeword? Mine is ‘Musgrave’.”</p><p>“I don’t need one with you, do I?” Greg asked, thinking of the other man’s impressive ability to read even the smallest of tells. “If it’s going too far for me, you’ll know.”</p><p>“I do not take risks with my partner’s wellbeing,” Mycroft replied firmly. “Nor do I repeat myself.”</p><p>“Ripper.” Greg moistened his suddenly dry lips. “It’s ‘ripper’, but I’ve never used it.”</p><p>“Thank you. Now, tell me what you like.”</p><p>“What’s the point, if you already know?” Greg asked, suddenly nettled. It had been a long day after a longer week, and he hadn’t come to Cruel Devices looking for conversation. <i>’And you’re pushing him,’</i> his conscience whispered, but Greg ignored it. “Can’t we just get on with it?”</p><p>“No, we can’t ‘just get on with it’. Assuming that you are aware of - and are willing to acknowledge - everything that I have deduced is a risk I’m unwilling to take. You can, of course, refuse to tell me and I will find you a suitable partner for the night and leave you to it, but I can guarantee that I am the best dom in the room.” There was a satisfied gleam in Mycroft’s eyes when Greg didn’t argue further. “If it is easier, tell me your limits.”</p><p>“I, ah.” Greg glanced down at the table, where Mycroft’s hand was still resting atop his own. “I won’t do anything in front of an audience, so private rooms only.” </p><p>“Which is just as well, because I do not share,” Mycroft replied, a distinctly possessive edge to his voice, and finished his drink. “You mentioned submission, but what of bondage?”</p><p>“Yeah, I like it,” Greg replied, turning his glass on the tabletop. “I’ll try most things, but no humiliation, scat, or watersports, I’m not into being treated like a dog, and pain as a punishment only.”</p><p>“Excellent; we are very well matched, as I thought.” Mycroft stroked the inside of Greg’s wrist with his fingertips, the air growing heavy between them. “I do not expect you to enter subspace tonight, but I do expect obedience and trust.” Mycroft tilted his head slightly, gaze so intense that Greg felt naked. “You don’t believe subspace exists because you have never experienced it, correct? Keep in mind that you are vanishingly unlikely to experience it while so uncomfortable with your preferences and lacking trust in your partners, but I am not going to press the topic tonight.”</p><p>Relief chased away some of Greg’s anxiety and he inclined his head. “So, what are you into?”</p><p>“Nothing you will object to if you have just been honest with me.” Mycroft paused to drink. “I enjoy absolute control. Imagine for a moment how frustrating it is to watch the idiots I am surrounded by ignore my advice on a daily basis, and then witness events unfold exactly as anticipated. Having my submissive doing <i>exactly</i> as I say, allowing me to anticipate and meet their needs without resistance, having the power to properly punish intransigence...yes, that holds a great deal of appeal for me. I find it calming and rewarding in a way that few things are.” Greg’s heart beat hard in his chest and Mycroft’s eyes glinted. “Finish your drink, Greg.”</p><p>“No.” Greg shook his head, pushing and testing. “We’ve got better things to be doing.”</p><p>“Nonetheless, you will finish it,” Mycroft replied, voice level but eyes glinting dangerously. Greg felt his heart skip a beat; he’d long since admitted a liking for dangerous men, men who could have him totally at their mercy, and Mycroft was basically <i>it</i> in that regard. “Unless I give you an order that necessitates the use of your safeword, you are to obey immediately. Do you understand?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Greg raised his glass and made quick work of his drink, sending a silent ‘thank you’ to any deities watching that his hand was steady. “I understand.”</p><p>Mycroft’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Very good. We have a private room reserved for the night, and I have taken a suite at Drakes Hotel. You’re under no obligation, of course, but I should like you to come back with me.”</p><p>Relieved, because he hated being alone after an intense scene and he doubted that a night with Mycroft would be anything but intense, Greg nodded. “I’ve got a room at the Premier Inn but I’d rather be with you.” Thinking of the many nights they’d spent together in the time since they’d introduced sex into their friendship, he smiled. “Besides, I <i>like</i> being in bed with you; you kick out heat like a radiator and your bedhead’s amazing.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it,” Mycroft smiled, patently pleased, and Greg felt a flutter of satisfaction at having been the one to cause it. “If you have any reservations, raise them now; once we are in our room you may only speak when spoken to unless you need to clarify a command or use your safeword. Begging is also permitted, but whether you will get what you are begging for is my prerogative. Do you understand?”</p><p>There was a thread of steel running through Mycroft’s voice, a thread of steel that was doing things to Greg that would thoroughly embarrass him under any other circumstances: he <i>wanted</i> to obey, he <i>wanted</i> to do as he was told, and it was a heady feeling. He lowered his gaze to the table, where their hands were still resting together, and allowed himself to enjoy it. “What if I disobey?”</p><p>“You will be punished,” Mycroft replied with cold certainty. “You know me, Rupert. You know how...inventive I can be when I am displeased.” Greg’s heart raced and he knew the younger man too well to hope that he wasn’t aware of the reaction he was causing. “But you won’t disobey me, will you?”</p><p>“No. No, I won’t.” Greg moistened his lips, feeling calm settle over him. He wasn’t in control here and that was exactly what he needed, what he sought when he visited Cruel Devices. </p><p>“Very good.” Mycroft’s gaze warmed with approval and the atmosphere snapped between them, seeming to suck the air out of the room. Just when Greg didn’t think he could take any more Mycroft stood and picked up his case. “That’s enough talking, I think. Come with me.” </p><p>Greg stood, his legs feeling like they wanted little to do with holding him up, and followed, keeping close behind as Mycroft cut through the crowd like a shark through water. They crossed the main room quickly, Greg acutely aware of the eyes following them, and out into the lobby where there was a door to the left of the admissions booth.</p><p>“Name?” the man guarding the door asked as they approached, directing his attention at Mycroft. Steve, with whom Greg had spent more than one night, was short and bald, dressed entirely in black, except for a neon green band around his well-muscled arm marking him out as a dungeon monitor. Greg had thought the idea of dungeon monitors hilarious when he first encountered them, imagining for a wild moment that <i>this</i> was what the perverts among the old school milk monitors grew up to be, but he hadn’t been on the scene long before he’d had reason to be <i>very</i> grateful that the good clubs took their members’ safety so seriously.</p><p>“Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft answered confidently, much to Greg’s surprise. Cruel Devices required proof of identity and address when members joined, but ‘Rupert’ was listed as his preferred name and he’d never used anything else with staff or other members. Sensing Greg’s surprise, Mycroft stepped close and put his lips to Greg’s ear as Steve checked his list. “I’m not ashamed, <i>Rupert</i>,” he breathed, hot breath causing an eruption of goose flesh down Greg’s left arm. “I have nothing to hide.”</p><p>“This way, Mr Holmes,” Steve said before Greg could respond. ‘This way’ was down a flight of well-lit stairs to the basement level of Cruel Devices. There were six private rooms off the stone flagged corridor, each comfortable and well equipped, which could be booked by couples or groups. Greg had been in all of them in the time since he’d joined, and he mentally checked them off as they passed the rooms until they came to a stop outside room five. “This is you. Anna’s down there,” Steve continued, gesturing at the purple-haired woman sitting with a Danielle Steel book at the bottom of the corridor, “and she’ll come to you if either of you press one of the panic buttons in the room. You’ve both read the house rules but I need you to confirm that everything you do while you’re with us will be safe, sane, and consensual.”</p><p>“Our activities will be safe, sane, and consensual,” Mycroft intoned, only years of friendship allowing Greg to hear the underlying impatience. The older man nodded his agreement, idly wondering whether Steve had set out to be a kink club’s prefect or if it had just happened. After all, he had run away to join a circus at sixteen and police work couldn’t really be much further away from <i>that</i>. Suddenly there were fingers in his hair and his head was yanked back, exposing his neck, and the sharp pain and sudden vulnerability eliciting a whimper. “You were asked a question, Rupert: answer it,” Mycroft ordered, his voice a dangerous whisper in Greg’s ear.</p><p>“I, yeah,” Greg stammered, heart racing. He moved his head forward, testing, and was not disappointed; Mycroft maintained his grip and countered the movement, keeping his head back and neck bared. “Safe, sane, and consensual.”</p><p>Steve ticked a box on his form, absolutely unfazed. “It’s half past ten now and we close at three. Do you want a taxi booking?” </p><p>“Thank you, no,” Mycroft replied patiently, not loosening his grip on Greg’s hair. “May we?”</p><p>“Yep, we’re done.” Without batting an eyelid, the DM scribbled a final note on his sheet and opened the door. “Enjoy.”</p><p>Mycroft used his grip on Greg’s hair to guide him to the centre of the room, only letting go when the door had closed behind them. “Strip and kneel.”</p><p>Greg glanced around as he started on his shirt buttons, finding the room much the same as it had been the last time he’d used it; simple but comfortable. There was a double bed with chunky steel hoops fixed to the sturdy frame, two simple chairs with padded leather seats and backs and wooden arms set facing each other opposite the bed, and an array of whips, canes, crops, floggers, ropes, and cuffs hanging along the wall adjacent to the door. It wasn’t the largest of the six rooms, and nor was it the room with the most equipment or furniture in it, but Greg had no doubt that Mycroft had chosen it for a reason. He wasn’t the kind of man to leave anything to chance, after all. </p><p>Dressed simply as he was, stripping didn’t take long, and he was soon placing his neatly folded clothes on the end of the bed. That done, he turned his attention to Mycroft, who had his back to Greg and was apparently peering intently into his case, which was open on the bed. Peering around the other man’s shoulder, Greg caught sight of a riding crop and what looked like lengths of rope neatly coiled, and, as though he could feel Greg’s gaze, Mycroft turned and narrowed his eyes. It was not a large room and it barely took him two strides to close the distance between them. “I told you to <i>kneel</i>.”</p><p>As Mycroft had been speaking, he’d taken hold of Greg’s wrist and, with a sudden, sharp movement, jerked his arm up behind his back and drove him to his knees. “I’m sorry,” Greg gasped in pain as his knees hit the floor, a rush of something indefinable hitting hard enough to leave him lightheaded. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Not sorry enough.” Mycroft released his wrist and raised his hand to caress Greg’s cheek. “This is your last warning.”</p><p>Greg’s fifty five year old knees throbbed painfully, protesting the force with which they had hit the floor, but it was <i>exactly</i> what he needed. Mycroft was playing him effortlessly and he was helpless to do anything but nod his acknowledgment.  </p><p>“Very good, Greg. Do not disappoint me again.” Mycroft stepped away and Greg immediately missed his proximity and heat. “Clasp your hands in front of you and close your eyes.”</p><p>Greg obeyed. His heart hammered and skin prickled all over when the world went dark; unable to see, he had to rely on his other senses if he wanted to have a clue what was going on, and that always made him feel particularly vulnerable. He listened intently for the next few moments as Mycroft moved quietly around the room, his footsteps barely a whisper against the floor. Knowing that he wasn’t in control, that Mycroft was in charge and would look after him, allowed the very edges of the headspace Greg sought when he visited Cruel Devices to encroach, and he welcomed it with open arms. </p><p>“You’re doing very well,” Mycroft praised warmly, his voice breaking the heavy silence that had fallen.  “Do you trust me?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Greg replied, the hoarseness taking him by surprise. “What’re you doing?”</p><p>“That was a question, Greg; you will be punished for it,” Mycroft promised, touching Greg’s right shoulder and trailing his fingertips through the sparse hair there in a teasing caress. “You truly are devastatingly attractive,” he murmured, stepping close. His arousal was obvious against Greg’s back and Greg pressed against it, the wool of Mycroft’s trousers rough against his suddenly hypersensitive skin. “And so responsive.” </p><p>Mycroft’s hand moved deftly down Greg’s chest, fingertips paying attention to every sensitive spot he had. “Please,” Greg breathed, the edges of the craved headspace starting to coalesce into something more substantial. “<i>Please</i>, Mycroft.”</p><p>“Keep your eyes closed,” Mycroft ordered, his movements telling Greg that he was reaching for something. “Very good,” he praised, lifting his hands to settle a blindfold securely over Greg’s eyes. “How does that feel?”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Greg replied, opening his eyes under the heavy fabric of the blindfold. He searched for a way to describe the vulnerability he felt at being cut off from his sight, at being so totally enveloped in darkness, but the words would not come. Instead, he focused on feeling it rather than thinking about it; enjoying it rather than analysing it. </p><p>The younger man’s hum said that he knew exactly what Greg had been unable to articulate and he moved again, this time to bind Greg’s hands together. The rope, which Greg surmised had come from Mycroft’s case, was smooth and soft, and quickly formed cuffs with the kind of deft confidence that spoke of years of experience. Greg felt a pulse of excitement; he knew he liked a bit of bondage and he was starting to suspect that he was about to be treated to a lesson from a master. Mycroft trailed his fingertips sensuously upwards from Greg’s wrists until they reached his shoulders where they came to rest, raising goosebumps in their wake. “You have no idea how much I have wanted to have you like this, bound and on your knees for me.”</p><p><i>You’ve got me now,</i> Greg thought, carefully shifting on his aching knees. It wasn’t the first time - and he knew that it wouldn’t be that last - that he wished he’d discovered his liking for being put on his knees before thirty years on the force had taken its toll on his joints.  </p><p>“Yes, I have,” Mycroft purred, every inch the predator. He stepped to Greg’s left and slipped a hand under his arm. “You will stand on the count of three and carefully stretch your legs. You are not to move otherwise.” When Greg nodded his acquiescence, Mycroft continued, “One, two, three,” and gently guided him upright, his grasp strong and sure. </p><p>Getting to his feet was nothing short of agonising; the throbbing in his knees intensified tenfold, stealing his breath. “Fuck, that hurts,” he gasped, carefully bending his knees in an attempt to ease the pain. “I’m too old for this.” </p><p>“Middle age comes for us all,” Mycroft sympathised, moving to wrap a supportive arm around Greg’s waist. </p><p>Blindfolded and unsteady, Greg was immediately grateful for the support; it felt good and safe and right, and he allowed himself to relax into it without a thought, his mind growing calmer despite the ache in his knees.  </p><p>“That’s it,” Mycroft murmured, lips brushing the outer shell of Greg’s ear, causing a fresh outbreak of gooseflesh down his left side. “Trust me to look after you.”</p><p>“Hmm, I do.” </p><p>“Good. Now, no more talking,” Mycroft adjusted his hold, rotating them slightly on the spot, but Greg couldn’t have said in which direction for all the money in the bank of England. “Unless you need to use your safeword, you are to follow my instructions without hesitation. You will not ask questions or otherwise speak unless asked a direct question. You will not obstruct me. Nod if you understand.”</p><p>Pushing his temptation to test boundaries to the back of his mind, Greg nodded his agreement. </p><p>“Thank you,” Mycroft said, lips brushing Greg’s neck. Torturously slowly, his lips moved down Greg’s neck, playing every sensitive spot he had like a maestro. Just when Greg didn’t think he could take anymore without breaking his promise not to speak, Mycroft moved. It was so unexpected and sudden that Greg gasped as Mycroft walked him backwards until the back of his legs hit something. Heart racing and unable to see, it took a long moment for him to recognise that he’d been backed into one of the leather chairs. “Sit.”</p><p>Greg obeyed. The cold of the leather against his naked, sensitised skin was a shock, so much so that Greg’s back arched. “What —” </p><p>“You were warned,” Mycroft interrupted icily, moving swiftly away from the chair. Greg tried to follow his sounds as his trepidation mounted, but Mycroft moved so quietly that Greg was left clueless. Though he was expecting something, the loud cracking sound followed immediately by a sharp searing pain on Greg’s left inner thigh still came out as a surprise. He cried out, sobbing an apology for breaking the rules, but it was futile; a second strike followed barely a heartbeat later, this time landing on his right thigh. The hot pain from what could only have been the riding crop radiated outward, seeming to burn from knee to hip, and Greg heard himself sob another apology. “Two strikes for two questions. I do not like hurting you, Greg; do not make me do it again.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Greg replied, voice breaking, and attempted to rub his throbbing thighs with his still-bound hands. </p><p>“Shh, it’s over now,” Mycroft soothed, finger-combing Greg’s hair. “You took your punishment beautifully.” </p><p>Those words were a balm to Greg, calming his mind and even seeming to ease the pain still burning in his thighs. His punishment had served to underline that he was completely helpless in the face of Mycroft’s dominance and that the only way to protect himself from further pain was to obey without question. He sank further as Mycroft’s fingers carded through his sweat-damp hair, the rhythmic back and forth insync with the throbbing in his thighs, and gave up trying to process the experience in favour of enjoying it.</p><p>“Perfect, Greg. You’re doing very well.” Mycroft’s tone was soothing but Greg had slipped past the point of processing anything beyond the fact that Mycroft had forgiven him. Mycroft moved away again but Greg made no effort to follow his sounds this time. Moments later, Mycroft’s hand landed on Greg’s right shoulder and stroked down to his elbow. “Your safeword?”</p><p>“Ripper,” Greg croaked. “It’s ripper.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Mycroft’s hand moved from his arm to his chin, and he used the tips of his fingers to tilt Greg’s face up. A light, barely there kiss was a wonderful surprise, and the still functioning part of Greg’s mind told him that it was his reward for behaving himself. Mycroft untied the rope around Greg’s wrists and he immediately gripped the arms of his chair, lest he do something stupid like touch Mycroft, and was rewarded with a second kiss. “Very good, Greg.” </p><p>Mycroft’s breath was hot against Greg’s skin as his hands went to work, slowly binding first his left, and then his right arm to the wooden arms of the chair. Greg couldn’t see the rope work, and was certainly no expert in bondage, but this wasn’t like any time he’d been tied up before; that usually involved tying him to a bed or piece of fetish furniture for sex, but Mycroft seemed to be enjoying this for its own sake. “You have no idea how much I have wanted to have you like this, bound and at my mercy,” he said roughly, trailing his fingertips up Greg’s arm from where the rope ended, causing gooseflesh to erupt in their wake. “When we have the time, I’m going to do this properly. You will look stunning.”</p><p>Greg hummed his agreement, liking the sound of that. He turned his face towards where he could feel Mycroft and was not disappointed when the other man kissed him. He and Mycroft had shared many, many kisses in the time since they had introduced sex into their friendship, and, even addled as he was, Greg knew that this was most intense of them. Mycroft’s lips trembled as he claimed Greg’s mouth and the older man was helpless to do anything but moan. His arousal, which had waned when Mycroft had punished him, returned, his cock throbbing in time with his pulse. </p><p>“Beautiful,” Mycroft said, taking hold of Greg’s cock and pumping his fist teasingly. Greg attempted to thrust into Mycroft’s hand, seeking more, but as soon as he moved the other man relinquished his hold. “No, Greg: you will take what I give you. Do that again and you will be punished.”</p><p>“‘m sorry,” Greg replied hastily, lips feeling oddly heavy. “Please, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I know you are,” Mycroft soothed, stroking Greg’s left cheek. “I accept your apology and you are not going to do it again.” Greg hastily nodded his agreement and was rewarded with another kiss. “Very good, Greg; you are doing beautifully.” Mycroft moved again, this time to kneel at his feet. </p><p>The pleasure Mycroft took in his work was palpable as he set to binding Greg’s leg to the legs of the chair, starting with his right leg; his breath was hot against Greg’s skin, coming in short breaths that Greg vaguely recognised as an indicator that Mycroft was turned on. Though he could not see, Greg could tell that the rope work on his ankles and legs was more intricate than that around his wrists, and every now and then, Mycroft made a soft sound of satisfaction that Greg felt to his core. <i>I’m doing that,</i> he thought. <i>Me.</i> Greg had no idea how much time had passed before Mycroft moved on to his left leg and keeping track seemed less and less important with each pass of the rope around his leg. </p><p>When Mycroft finished his work, Greg could feel rope extending from his ankles all the way up to his knees and suddenly found himself curious about what it looked like. “Yes, I’ll allow you to see what a work of art you make next time,” Mycroft said, apparently reading his mind. He peppered kisses up Greg’s left thigh, stopping to tease his cock with hot breath and barely there brushes of his lips, on his way up to standing. Greg heard the cracking of his knees as Mycroft stood properly, and felt a fuzzy wave of amusement at the evidence that he wasn’t the only one of them staring middle age in the face. </p><p>Standing as close as he was, Greg could smell Mycroft - an alluring combination of cologne, arousal, and <i>Mycroft</i> - and the temptation to lean forward was too strong to resist. Unable to see, Greg let his sense of smell do the work, and leant forward until his nose found Mycroft’s crotch. </p><p>Greg nosed Mycroft’s hard cock through his trousers with a hungry moan, but his satisfaction did not last long: Mycroft fisted a hand into Greg’s hair and yanked his head back, eliciting a high, pained whimper. “I do not recall giving you permission to touch me, Greg,” he said icily, twisting until tears welled in Greg’s eyes under his blindfold. “You have been warned about breaking my rules, have you not?”</p><p>“Please, I’m sorry,” he cried, voice whiny even to his own ears. “I’m <i>sorry</i>!”</p><p>“Tell me why you ignored explicit an instruction not to touch me without permission after already receiving one punishment,” Mycroft commanded, not loosening his grip on Greg’s hair in the slightest. </p><p>“I —” Greg started abortively, forming a sentence feeling like attempting to walk through calf-high mud. “I didn’t think, I just — I wanted — <i>Please</i>...”</p><p>Mycroft hummed and relinquished his grip on Greg’s hair. “You wanted my cock in your mouth,” Mycroft finished for him, as though he had plucked the half-formed thoughts from Greg’s mind. “You want me to use you now that I have you bound and at my mercy.” </p><p>Greg hastily nodded his agreement, not trusting his voice.</p><p>Mycroft ran his thumb along the seam of Greg’s lips. “Given your otherwise good behaviour, I will not punish you for this tonight. I will not, however, be so lenient next time. Have I made myself clear?”</p><p>Lightheaded with relief, Greg nodded emphatically. “Yes, Mycroft. Thank you.”</p><p>Greg felt Mycroft step back slightly and then the other man’s hands were moving in front of him, and he didn’t need his sight to know that Mycroft was making quick work of the fiddly little buttons that comprised the fastenings of his trousers. Greg’s mouth watered in anticipation.</p><p>The force with which Mycroft took Greg’s mouth came as a surprise; it was nothing at all like any of the times they had been together over the past couple of years, times when Mycroft had been a careful and considerate lover. In this position, he was the perfect height to stand in front of Greg and fuck his mouth, and that, much to Greg’s satisfaction, is exactly what he did. Fingers twined into Greg’s sweat-damp hair kept his head angled <i>just so</i>, the tension through the strands pulled at his scalp sharply enough that he couldn’t get lost in the blissful haze threatening to take over at having his mouth so brutally used. Instead, he felt it every time the head of Mycroft’s cock hit the back of his throat; he heard every one of the quiet yet hungry sounds Mycroft made; he could feel the saliva and pre-come dribbing down his own chin, and it was everything Greg wanted and needed. Pleasure and pain became one as arousal rushed through him in sync with the throbbing ache in his jaw.   </p><p>Mycroft had never been one for sex talk and this occasion was no different, for which Greg was profoundly grateful; he’d always found his doms blathering on about giving it to him or him being a good slut or any other such nonsense a massive turn-off.  Mycroft’s quiet moans and gasps, each and every one of them irrefutable evidence of the pleasure he was taking from Greg, however, went straight to his cock like an electric charge. From a man so restrained and in control, every sound was a victory and Greg glowed with pride. <i>He</i> was doing that. <i>Him</i>.</p><p>Greg’s moans mingled with Mycroft’s as his mouth was used, the pace absolutely relentless. Had he had his wits about him, Greg would have recognised the signs of Mycroft’s impending orgasm, but it wasn’t his job to be worrying about that tonight; it was his job to do what Mycroft told him and accept what he was given. Pride and pleasure and arousal warred in Greg when Mycroft’s hips jerked as he came, filling his mouth with hot, bitter fluid. Greg did his best to swallow but he could feel it escaping past his lips and mixing with the saliva and sweat already covering his chin. His own cock throbbed in time with his racing heartbeat and, for just a moment, Greg thought he was going to come without Mycroft having laid so much as a finger on it, so intense was the pleasure at having served his dom well.</p><p>“No, Greg,” Mycroft commanded, his voice somehow level despite his heavy breathing. The hand he had in Greg’s hair relaxed and Greg whimpered as his scalp tingled all over with the rapid return of normal circulation. “You will climax when granted permission and not before. Have I made myself clear?”</p><p>“Yes, Mycroft,” Greg replied, voice ragged and cock throbbing with need. The mix of come, sweat, and saliva on his chin and neck was drying, his jaw and throat aching to the point of real discomfort, but Greg hazily thought he’d never felt so satisfied. </p><p>A moment of silence passed, their heavy breathing and the sound of his own heart the only things Greg could hear. “You were perfect, Greg,” Mycroft breathed, lifting Greg’s face with a finger under his chin. “I am so very pleased with you.” The tips of Mycroft’s fingers moved from his chin, brushing sensually across his jaw until they reached the back of the blindfold. Even with the lightning as low as it was, after however much time had passed in complete darkness the sudden light was briefly too much; Greg screwed his eyes closed against it, but Mycroft’s finger was back under his chin, tilting his face up. “Look at me, Greg.”</p><p>Greg obeyed. The sight that met him took his breath away; he’d seen Mycroft in all states of dress and undress in their two years as causal lovers, but he had <i>never</i> seen him so utterly wrecked, not even after an hour of solid fucking. His lower lip was red and slightly swollen, and, even with his mind operating at half speed, it soon supplied him with images of Mycroft biting his lip as he focussed on binding Greg to the chair. Greg’s attention drifted up from Mycroft’s lips, idly noting his arousal-flushed cheeks, until he was looking the other man in the eye. His pupils were blown wide and he was looking levelly at Greg, making absolutely no effort to hide how deeply affected he was. </p><p>“Here, drink.” Mycroft held a bottle of orange Lucozade to his lips, and Greg drank. A little at first, but then then realised how thirsty he was and drained half of the bottle.“Very good, Greg.”<br/>
Mycroft stooped to kiss him, seemingly content to ignore the unpalatable mess on Greg’s face. “I’m afraid that you have rather spoiled me for any other submissive,” he said, holding Greg’s gaze as he re-buttoned his trousers. As those words sank in, intensifying the warm, fuzzy haze that had enveloped Greg over the course of their activities, Mycroft sank gracefully to his knees at Greg’s feet. Trailing fingertips across the back of Greg’s hand to what Greg could now see was impossibly neat, intricate rope work binding his left arm to the chair, Mycroft said, “I’m going to release these. Expect some discomfort as normal circulation returns, but you <i>will</i> tell me if it is painful.”</p><p> “Yes, Mycroft.” </p><p>He watched as Mycroft set about untying his hands, his long, deft fingers working quickly. It wasn’t quite painful but the crawling sensation in his wrists and hands was definitely uncomfortable. “You’re doing very well, Greg,” Mycroft reassured as Greg shifted in the chair. He lifted Greg’s left hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss into the rope-marked skin. Carefully, he started a gentle massage, thumbs working in small circles from above his wrist to his fingers, and repeating the same with his right hand. </p><p>It felt wonderful. Not just the hand massage, but that Mycroft was spending this time taking care of his needs. He’d had aftercare from doms in the past, of course, but few of them seemed to take real pleasure in giving it. Mycroft did. That much was plain to see, from the amount of time he spent on each finger to the expression on his face as he tended to Greg’s hands, and Greg didn’t know what to make of it. </p><p>“Any dom who does not see to the wellbeing of his submissive does not deserve the name,” Mycroft said, reading Greg’s mind again. He started work on the rope binding Greg’s legs to the chair, as diligent in his attention to his legs and feet as he had been to his wrists and hands. </p><p>Greg was floating. He hadn’t felt this relaxed, this <i>free</i>, in — Christ, he didn’t know how long. His cock was still hard enough to hammer nails, and his arse was going numb after so long sitting, but he didn’t want this to end. Mycroft, having finished massaging his feet, started working their way up his calves, his peppering kisses in his hands’ wake. </p><p>“Have you any <i>idea</i> how you looked, naked and bound for me?” he asked, lips pressed to Greg’s right knee. “I should keep you like that. Not here, of course.” Mycroft sucked the sensitive spot on the inside of Greg’s thigh and smiled against his leg when Greg moaned. “I have a room at home. I’ll show you, next time.” His lips moved higher until Greg could feel the other man’s breath on his straining cock. The damned thing twitched at the thought of ‘next time’, and Greg wasn’t the only one to notice. “Oh, you like the thought of that, don’t you? We’ll set aside a weekend, perhaps, and I’ll keep you bound and naked. You know how stringent my security is: no-one would be able to find you unless I wished it so.”</p><p>“Please, Mycroft,” Greg croaked, his mouth suddenly dry. “<i>Please.</i>”</p><p>Mycroft kissed the head of Greg’s cock. “I do not expect total silence, but you will not speak; if you do, you will be left unsatisfied. You are not to take your hands off the arms of the chair. You are not to thrust into my mouth. Have I made myself clear?”</p><p>“Yeah, crystal,” Greg replied breathily, his heart feeling like it was going to beat right out of his chest when Mycroft took him down to the root in one move. He wasn’t much of a talker during sex, but he <i>was</i> touchy, and the order to keep his hands on the chair wasn’t easy to obey. Mycroft’s head was <i>right there</i> and his hands itched to touch and hold, but he kept them where they were.</p><p>It didn’t take long for Mycroft to have Greg on the edge, gasping and clawing at the arms of the chair. When Mycroft flicked his tongue into the slit of Greg’s cock and sucked, Greg thought it was game over, but he should have known better. This wasn’t a normal night with Mycroft, and he wasn’t in control, not even of his own orgasm. Greg whined when Mycroft lifted his mouth, hot breath ghosting the copiously leaking head of his cock, and bit down on a curse. Mycroft smirked up at him, eyes glinting, and took Greg back into his mouth, sucking teasingly. </p><p>Three more times he did that, three more times he took Greg to the edge and backed away, until Greg was all but sobbing as he writhed in the chair. When he was allowed to climax, it was so intense that it verged on the painful. His eyes rolled back in his head as his vision whited out, leaving him floating on a plane where nothing but this feeling mattered. </p><p>He must have lost consciousness for a moment, because when he opened his eyes Mycroft was wrapping a dark purple blanket around his shoulders. “You did so well, Greg. So well.” He ran a hand through Greg’s sweat-damp hair, leaving it standing in spikes. “Drink,” he said, holding the bottle of Lucozade to Greg’s lips with his free hand. “That’s it. And some more.”</p><p>As he drank, Greg felt himself tremble. He’d been doing this for long enough that he knew it was just the ebb and flow of chemicals and hormones released by such activities, but understanding the why didn’t help him feel less shaky in the aftermath. “Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse from the fucking his mouth had taken. </p><p>“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you.” Mycroft perched on the arm of the chair and wrapped an arm around Greg’s shoulders, but the chair wasn’t really designed to hold two grown men. Nonetheless, Greg leant into Mycroft, enjoying the other man’s warmth. Mycroft kissed the top of his head and Greg could feel him smiling. “We have an hour and a half before we need to leave, but I confess that I would rather take you back to my suite to look after you than remain here.”</p><p>Mind still fuzzy, it took Greg a long moment to formulate his reply. “That’s fine, but why do so much here in the first place?”</p><p>“Your comfort, my dear.” Mycroft carded his fingers through Greg’s hair. “You’re comfortable here. You trust the staff and you feel relatively safe. Better for our first time, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Hmm,” Greg replied lazily, nuzzling Mycroft’s chest. He was right, of course. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t trust you —”</p><p>“I know.” Mycroft kissed the top of Greg’s head. “This is neutral territory and you’re familiar with it. My arrival threw you off balance enough, without me insisting that we use a foreign environment.”</p><p>“We’ll use your playroom next time,” Greg replied, leaning more heavily against Mycroft. He was always very tired after a scene, and was usually in the back of a taxi on his way back to his hotel by this point.</p><p>“Yes, we will.” Greg could hear the promise in Mycroft’s tone. “For now, however, I would like to get you to bed.” He got up from the arm of the chair and collected Greg’s clothes from the end of the bed. </p><p>Greg watched as Mycroft went to his knees again, this time to dress him. He started with Greg’s socks and then worked his feet into his pants and trouser legs. Greg put his hand on Mycroft’s shoulder to push him back, but the other man resisted. “You don’t have to do this.”</p><p>Gaze intense, Mycoft looked up at Greg. “Aftercare is not optional, Greg,” he said gently. “Please, allow me to look after you.”</p><p>“Yeah, alright,” Greg replied, bemused. None of his previous doms had wanted to look after him to this extent, but he should have known better than to try applying the same rules to Mycroft. It seemed to be with real relish that Mycroft dressed Greg, and the older man couldn’t let the moment pass without comment. “This is weird: you’re normally trying to get me out of my clothes.”</p><p>“Oh, I will be when we’re in our suite, have no fear,” Mycroft replied, tone laden with filthy promise. He tied Greg’s shoes and kissed him. Greg belatedly realised that his chin was still covered in dry come and saliva, but Mycroft did not seem to mind. “Can you stand?”</p><p>Standing up, it turned out, was harder than Greg would have given it credit for; his legs felt like jelly and the floor seemed to be jumping up to meet him. Mycroft, though, was right there, strong and solid, holding him close. “Sorry, I’ll be alright in a minute.”</p><p>“Don’t apologise. You’ve been in the same position for three hours, Greg,” Mycroft said, lips to Greg’s ear. “Quite apart from anything else, submitting so completely has a powerful chemical effect.”</p><p>“Hmm. Feels good, too.” He leant into Mycroft’s side, letting his dom take his weight. “You’re amazing. It’s never been this good.”</p><p>Mycroft kissed his temple. “My car will be waiting outside. I took the liberty of having your things taken to my suite, so there is no need to worry about that.”</p><p>“You think of everything,” Greg replied as Mycroft picked up his re-packed leather case and led Greg to the door. When Mycroft paused to open it, managing to do so whilst juggling Greg and his case without letting go either one of them, it hit Greg that they were leaving, that this was over. “I don’t want this to end,” he said, kissing Mycroft’s shoulder.</p><p>“Oh, this isn’t the end, Greg,” Mycroft purred, lips brushing the shell of Greg’s ear. “This is only the beginning.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>